Maybe One Day It Will Change
by ghostanimal
Summary: Oneshot: You can't stand in the middle of the hurried world still; You have to watch your back, because no one else will.


**Discl****aimer: I wish I owned Danny Phantom! Desiree: -turns me into Butch Hartman- AHHHHHHHHH! CHANGE ME BACK CHANGE ME BACK! -is changed back-**

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**Summary: You can't stand in the middle of the hurried world still; You have to watch your back, because no one else will.**

**Rating: High T**

**Inspiration: Bout half is what I go through.**

**Pairings: None**

**Warnings: Blood, cutting  
**

**Other Notes: This is the first of the two oneshots I'm posting before I start finishing EVERY SINGLE fanfiction that has the INCOMPLETE status on it.  
**

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It's the same day-to-day deal. You don't wake up, because that implies that you had the time to go to sleep. No, you're up all night, fighting for your life and the lives of people who don't care about you. In fact, many wish that in those fights you would fall and perish. Even your own parents are rooting for the bad guy. They don't know it's you, but does it really matter? It's just like your friends talking about you behind your back when they think you're listening to the music on your iPod.

After you finish the fight, you prepare for school. You're exhausted from the lack of sleep, factor in the horrid pain in your back and the cuts on your body then you're in a world of hurt. You stumble down the stairs, trying to stay awake. Maybe if you fall asleep you'll fall into a coma or die, you fear. The pain is constantly intense on your aching body and on your heavy mind. Did Mom question the cuts and bruises again? Oh wait, she wants you dead. Who cares?

You rush to school. Maybe if you're lucky, you won't be too late. Ha. To think you have that good luck.

School brings nothing more but more bruises on your battered body and more scars on your wounded heart. The bullies shove you in the lockers, but by now you're too weak to even phase yourself out. Don't know why you're weak. You're Danny Phantom; you defeated your future self, Pariah Dark and you protect Amity Park every day. You don't get weak.

You're let out of the locker by Mr. Lancer. He glares at you, demanding an explanation. You have no more hope that he will listen to you, so you silently accept the detention slip he hands you. Your heart feels heavier as you drag your poor, exhausted feet to class. Your ankle hurts so much. There was a bruise last night, but it felt broken. Was it? Who cares?

You let your friends talk, leaving you out. You're too tired to talk to them. The classroom is so warm and cozy. You just want to sleep, so tired that you want to cry from the splitting headache that came from lack of sleep. Should you fake illness and nap at the nurse's station? No, she'll notice the limp and the possible broken ankle. She'll see the cuts and the bruises and the scars that your own parents failed to see. The nurse will assume your parents hit you.

Uh-oh. You dozed off in class. Another detention. Boy are your parents gonna be pissed. For the love of God-a parent-teacher conference too? You wonder if you can muster up the energy to duplicate and overshadow both at this conference. Ha. You wish. You're too weak to do anything unless you can manage to get more than four hours of sleep.

You go to detention. Same old shit. Lancer glaring at you, making you feel awful about yourself, the bullies behind you snickering and throwing paper footballs at your head. You don't even bother asking Lancer to have them stop. Said bullies are only in there to prevent a lawsuit from a geek like you's parents.

Detention's over. Time to face the music with your parents.

But first, that damn ghost sense goes off. It's probably Skulker again. Why can't he just leave you alone and hunt down Vlad's ass? He's a halfa too. Oh wait. Vlad has what you don't have; Power, the ability to strike so much fear into the ghosts that they not dare touch you, wealth, and so much more. Sure, you have the one thing Vlad doesn't have and his money could never buy: The love of your family.

But let's rewind the tape of your life and take a second view. Your parents want to kill you, mostly your ghost half but there are too many days where you fear for your human life around them. They're always mad because you're too busy saving and protecting people who hate you to do your chores, follow the rules and worst of all, your grades. Why bother anymore? You're too stupid to EVER be ANY competition for your genius older sister. You are nothing but her lesser shadow. You're quite positive they love her more than you. Who could ever love such a screw-up?

Wow.

That fight with Skulker was tough. Your arm has a white-hot pain in it and your jacket sleeve is soaked in blood. What the hell did that hunk of metal do to you? You go to the bathroom to check it out. Thankfully you aren't light-headed at the sight of blood; not anymore anyway. After stripping off your jacket you nearly puke into the sink. Your arm bone-what was it called again?-was sticking out of your flesh. Holy mother of God was it beginning to hurt now.

You bit your tongue, a curse slipping every so often as you use your intangibility to set your bone back in place. After you set it back normally, you can't help but clutch your arm tightly and cry at the pain. Maybe you should go to the hospital, but you can't. The nurses there will have the same idea the nurse here would have. They'll think your parents beat you, which they would never, ever do to you. They love you right? Course you often doubt that and their rage sometimes seems to grow so big that you fear if that would be your last moments on earth.

The door opens and somebody walks in. They gasp at the sight of your arm and run out. Crap. Time to scram.

You take your jacket and phase out of the bathroom and fly home. Hopefully your parents won't be too upset.

You go home and run upstairs, ignoring your parents and sister. They didn't even pay attention.

Upstairs in your room, you finish bandaging your arm. Then you rush downstairs and grab some pain medicine. Anything to stop the throbbing in your arm. After that, you go back upstairs and lay in bed. You're exhausted but like normal, you can't sleep. Too much pain and too many thoughts about what you're doing with your life rush through your head. Like normal, you also end up wandering into the bathroom with the Fenton Pocket Knife your dad got you for Christmas. And like normal, you're standing shirtless in front of the mirror, door locked.

Almost nervously, you begin pressing the blade against your shoulder, you press it into the flesh and watch the red blood ooze from your flesh. You slowly run it down to accompany the many scars that litter your frail body. The cuts from battles, the cuts from bullies and the ones from your last cutting session. The first cut brought you confidence and you begin a cutting frenzy. You cover your shoulders with cuts. You litter your thighs with stab wounds from your blade. Soon you're covered in your own blood. And like normal, you wipe some with your finger and write on the mirror. Nothing special. You just write everything and anything you feel like writing. You just need to write something with your own blood. You have no idea what. Just something.

Then you take your shower. All of your blood goes down the drain, and the cuts steam from the water raining down on you. The steam fogs the mirror and you wipe the blood off the mirror with a paper towel when you finish. You dress yourself and eat dinner. Nobody questions your injuries, like normal. Like normal, you walk upstairs and go into your room. You attempt to get homework done. How can you when you're going to die from exhaustion. You manage to finish and slump to bed. This time, you collapse onto your bed and close your eyes in order to go to sleep.

Don't get too comfortable though.

You'll be up in a half-hour to fight Technus, then every hour or so after wards.

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_Refuse to feel anything at all,_

_Refuse to loose your step and fall._

_You can't show that you are weak,_

_Just move along with the circus you freak._

_You fake the laughter, the smiles and love,_

_But you know you just want to be up and above._

_Express your pain and suffering with the knife,_

_Burn your fingers, bruise your flesh and take it in strife_

_I've experienced this this from a suffer's view._

_But honestly, what can I do?_

_If you choose to surrender to depression, then you must hear me._

_Think about all that you will loose, including who you used to be._

_You can't stand in the middle of the hurried world still._

_You have to watch your back, because no one else will._


End file.
